Shabazz Palaces - Lese Majesty (2LP) - Red Transparent w/ Black Swirl Vinyl

Shabazz Palaces have always treated rap like a star map, and Lese Majesty is the constellation you trace when the lights are down and the sub is humming. Released July 29, 2014 on Sub Pop, the album arrived as a statement of intent from Ishmael “Palaceer Lazaro” Butler and Tendai “Baba” Maraire. Butler, who once floated through jazz-rap as Butterfly of Digable Planets, steers the ship with cryptic poise. Maraire grounds it with hand percussion, mbira textures, and a feel for negative space that suggests he is listening to the room as much as the beat.

The record is arranged into seven suites, eighteen tracks that blur into each other like a nocturnal transmission. “Dawn in Luxor” opens with a lift that feels like sunrise on a different planet, synths glowing at the edge of the mix, low end spreading out like fog. It is less about verses and hooks than about atmosphere and motion. Then “Forerunner Foray” clicks in with clipped drums and Butler’s whisper-riddles, a reminder that the group’s language is confidence without explanation. By the time “They Come in Gold” surfaces, the album has set its own rules. The drums land in unexpected pockets, the bass is all pillow and thump, and the vocals act like additional instruments, collaging slogans, warnings, and gleaming fragments of imagery.

Lese Majesty was recorded at their Seattle base, a studio they christened Protect and Exalt: A Black Space to Watch the Stars. That name doubles as a blueprint for the sound. Erik Blood’s engineering gives the record weight without turning it to sludge, and there is a halo around everything, a carefully sculpted reverb field that makes the minimalist drums feel larger than life. Spin it on a decent setup and you hear why Shabazz Palaces vinyl has a quiet cult; the low end blooms, the high frequencies stay velvet, and the stereo image pulls you deeper into the suites’ currents. If you have been thinking about Lese Majesty vinyl, this is the one you keep near the turntable when the house finally goes quiet.

What makes the album stick is its refusal to explain itself while remaining inviting. The duo plays with Afrofuturist tropes, but there is nothing academic in the execution. The tracks move like live breathing things, ideas here for a minute, molting, resurfacing in a new skin. Butler’s voice is conspiratorial and unhurried, a seasoned presence that can drop a line about infinity and make it feel like a neighborhood rumor. Maraire’s percussion choices give the record its spine. Bits of mbira glint through the mix like shards of daylight, while the kicks feel hand-tuned, sitting a hair behind the grid so the whole body sways instead of snaps.

It landed well with critics in 2014, but the record rewards time even more than hype. Put it next to Black Up and the later Quazarz pair from 2017 and you hear a middle chapter that embraces drift, trusting the listener to connect the dots. That is the quiet confidence of the album. It knows what it is doing, even if you need a few plays to catch the map. When “They Come in Gold” finally resolves, or when the suites fold into each other in a hushed transition, it feels like someone dimmed the lights in the studio and nodded, letting the tape roll.

For anyone browsing a Melbourne record store on a Saturday, flipping past indie stalwarts and grabbing Shabazz Palaces albums on vinyl, Lese Majesty is the copy you walk to the counter with, already imagining the needle drop. The Sub Pop pressing does right by the bass, and the packaging echoes the music’s sense of quiet ceremony. If you buy Shabazz Palaces records online, look for this one first; it is the clearest expression of their cosmic minimalism, a perfect late-night play that keeps giving. Even in the crowded world of vinyl records Australia collectors chase, it still feels like a secret.

There is a moment on “Dawn in Luxor” where the synths seem to inhale, the beat holds its breath, and Butler steps through a doorway only he can see. That is Lese Majesty in miniature. It is not trying to prove anything, only to build a room where strangeness is comfort and rhythm is gravity. A decade on, its edges have not dulled. If anything, the suites feel more sure of themselves, a reminder that some records are less about answers than about building a space you want to live in.